The way to a man's heart
by Kebeii
Summary: Sherlock x John Sherlock is keen to show John how much he means to him, but doesn't know how to show his affection. John is unsure about his feelings for Sherlock, worried about ruining what relationship they have. (My first Fanfic, hope you enjoy, not finished and please let me know what you think) :3 x (Johnlock)
1. Chapter 1

**The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach**

Sherlock was spread across the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought, going through his mind palace, muttering to himself. John walked into the living room, staring at the taller man who was sprawled on the sofa, rather inelegantly.

"I'm heading out Sherlock, not that you're bothered, or even listening." John frowned, zipping up his parker, shoving his hands in his pockets, fishing for his keys before heading out the door.

As soon as the door slammed shut Sherlock bolted upright, checking the house to make sure John had really gone out.

He had been wandering his palace looking for a particular cooking programme he had been watching with John; well John had been paying more attention than Sherlock had, they normally put the television on after dinner whilst they did their own thing. John had been reading the paper and Sherlock had spent the time relaxing on the sofa with a glass of wine, but had been paying enough attention to remember a particular recipe which even caught John's attention, he had heard John lower his paper.

Sherlock now stood in the empty house, searching through the cupboards, looking for the ingredient he had hidden in advance; preparation is the key to success. Upon opening the fridge Sherlock realise he had forgotten some important components, especially the wine, he had ended up finishing the last bottle with John the night before.

He wrote himself a list of things he needed, he had seen John write shopping lists and he didn't really want to waste time going through his mind palace again, it would attract too much attention in a public place, and make him stick out even more than he already did.

The consulting detective grabbed his coat and keys before rushing to the door, just as John had. He headed straight to the Tesco Express which wasn't far, and would save time, he only had a maximum of two hours to prepare this meal, judging from John's expression before he left wherever he was going it was something he wasn't comfortable about; if Sherlock wasn't busy he would have followed the doctor, but once John got back Sherlock would deduce the possibilities.

Holmes reached the shop, heading straight to the alcohol section, although it was limited he picked out a white wine to cook with and another for the purpose of drinking, it was also one of John's favourites.

_Giddy over John's wine, pull yourself together._

Sherlock shook his head, he frowned, shaking his head, replacing it with a smile as he carried on collecting the other items on his list, fumbling around with his shopping, almost dropping the wine. Suddenly a basket was shoved in front of him and he turned to see Mrs Hudson standing behind him, smiling.

"Mr Holmes, what a pleasant surprise." The tall man took the basket, placing his items into it. "I didn't expect to see you here; I thought John was the one who did the shopping."

"I was going to surprise John by cooking him dinner for once," he admitted. Mrs Hudson looked at him in disbelief, the corner of his lips curling into a smile. "If you'll excuse me, I need to press on, time is not on my side." He quickly headed to the chilled section before running to the check out, leaving Mrs Hudson is a state of shock.

Sherlock practically ran home, he was so far behind. Once inside the flat Sherlock tipped the content of the bags out onto the counter, opening one of the wines and poured himself a glass before finding a sharp knife and a chopping board, starting with the vegetables, he began to cut the onions, his brain fired up, distracting him.

_Cut the onion, this will break cells; Amino acid sulfoxides form sulfenic acids. Enzymes that were kept separate mix with the sulfenic acids to produce propanethiol S-oxide, a sulfur compound. This reacts with tears to form sulfuric acid. The sulfuric acid burns, stimulating eyes to release more tears to wash the irritant away; conclusion stop the gases from reaching eyes…or alternatively be a man and cut the onions quickly._

Holmes was momentarily distracted by the pain that surged through his index finger, the knife had slipped, splitting the skin and drawing blood. He threw the knife on the counter placing his mouth over the small wound, heading to the bathroom to find John's medical kit, looking for a plaster or a bandage.

Once he had tended to his wound Sherlock headed back to the kitchen, reaching for the knife and with some sudden burst of skill, chopped the onions up finely before placing them in a ban of hot butter, quickly washing the board and knife so there was no acid that would make him cry, before crushing garlic and adding it to the pan, letting the onions soften in the butter before cutting the chicken into bite size pieces; taking a large swig of wine as he did, out of the bottle too, very unusual. Once the chicken was added to the pan he threw the knife and chopping board into the sink, he'd clean them later. The risotto rice was added to the pan as soon as the chicken had begun to brown, Sherlock prepared the stock in some boiling water.

Holmes stopped, looking down at the pans in front of him, quickly entering his mind palace to figure out what came next; shouting out once he found what he was looking for, grabbing a large wine glass from the cupboard and, using the cheaper wine, and poured two glasses of it into the pan, listening to it sizzle. The smell was intoxicating and Sherlock found himself leaning over the pan, taking deep breathes of the evaporating wine.

The sound of his phone ringing distracted him and he reluctantly turned away from the pan, heading to pick it up. Mycroft's name flashed up on his screen, he let it ring off before sending a message that simple said:

_Cooking dinner. S _

The wine had now been evaporated and he added a ladle of stock to the pan, stirring occasionally. As he was adding another ladle of stock, some of the liquid in the pan spat out, hitting his hand, the slight sting of the boiling liquid on his hand caused him to jump slightly and the stock in the ladle sloshed down his trousers. Holmes to curse under his breath, pouring what was left in the ladle into the pan before peeling his trousers off, hanging them over the back of the chair, scrubbing them with a damp cloth.

Eventually all the stock had been added to the pan and Sherlock had time to relax, sipping at his wine as he watched it bubble, still stirring every so often. His eyes darted to the time and he almost choked on his wine when he realised the time; John would be home within the next half hour. Sherlock turned the heat to low, turning the oven on and placed the garlic bread into it, setting a timer.

The consulting detective looked at himself in the mirror, grabbing his razor, yes he would shave; he wanted to look smart. After his quick shave he ran to his wardrobe, looking for a clean top and trousers, heading back into the bathroom to put some after shave on. Sherlock left a couple of the shirt buttons open to reveal his chest. He stopped, looking at himself in horror.

_Why on earth would you want to show your chest off, this is John for godsake!_

Sherlock shook his head, as if to try and shake the small voice in the back of his head which was screaming at him. Holmes slammed his fists down onto the sink.

_Look at you, getting all hot and bothered over what to wear for John, pull it together Sherlock._

He quickly splashed his face with some cold water, heading back to the kitchen, grabbing his half full glass of wine and necking the rest of it, taking a deep breath.

Sherlock check the risotto, stirring it well, before grabbing a teaspoon and tasting what he had created. To his surprise it was delicious, he added some seasoning before covering the pan with a tea towel, but kept the heat on low as he began to set the table.

The table was set beautifully, with the laced table cloth, their best set of tableware out and of course a lit candle in the middle; Sherlock couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, for his first time cooking alone, he had done a good job. Sherlock lit some more candles placing them around the kitchen and dining area, lighting the last one as the timber for the garlic bread went off.

Sherlock froze when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door, quickly launching himself to the light switch, flicking it off and waiting behind the door, holding his breath. John walked in, freezing in the doorway. His eyes wondering around the dark flat before his eyes rested on the dining area, surrounded in _Mood lighting._

Holmes pushed the door slowly so it closed, John's gazed fixed on the set table. The taller man reached for John's parker, sliding it off his shoulders, the smaller man shivering slightly, either at the chill in the air, or the contact Sherlock's fingers had made with his neck.

"I made dinner," Sherlock whispered, gently pushing the doctor towards the dinner table, pulling a chair out for him and John sat, turning to face Holmes with a bemused look.

Sherlock plated the food up in the kitchen; he could feel John's eyes on him the whole time. He carried the food to the table, giving the first plate to John, pouring him a large glass of cool white wine, tending to himself afterwards. John picked up his fork, scooping up some of the risotto; Sherlock's heart was jumping about in his chest, hoping, praying that John liked it. He held his breath as John placed the fork in his mouth, watching him eat, quickly taking a sip of wine.

"Sherlock, this is amazing." John managed, snapping out of his shock, taking another forkful. The brown haired man relaxed, smiling at John, who smiled back at him, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

"I'm glad you like it, there is plenty if you want more." The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes, the sound of Sherlock clearing his throat broke the silence and John looked up. "Can I ask you something?" Holmes asked, putting his knife and fork down. The question obviously worried John in one way or another because he reached for his glass of wine, taking a rather large sip.

"Depends upon the question," Watson replied, continuing to eat. Sherlock noted the way the doctor's hands were slightly shaking.

"Is everything alright?" John swallowed, looking up at Sherlock.

"Y-yes, everything is fine, I-i just needed fresh air," John blushed, quickly continuing to eat; Sherlock did the same, but his eyes stayed fixed on the man in front of him.

After another 10 minutes of eating they had finished, John patting his stomach in satisfaction, and was now onto his third glass of wine, which seemed to be helping, calming him down. Sherlock cleared the table, fetching the pudding, dark chocolate mousse with raspberries, of course the mousse wasn't homemade, but he had made the effort of adding the fruit.

John was fast to finish his mousse, scraping every last bit out of the glass jar it had come in.

"Thank you Sherlock, I needed that."

"My pleasure John, You're the only person I would make dinner for, you're the only one worth my effort," Sherlock said, winking at John.

_His pupils dilated, the twitch in his finger signalling a change in his heart rate. Breathing, unsteady. _

John reached for his wine, downing what was left in his glass. Sherlock suddenly reached for John's hand, stroking the back of John's hand with his finger, watching the doctor's reaction.

"John, I-"

Both men jumped slightly when Sherlock's phone began to ring, at first Holmes ignored it, but as it continued to ring he reluctantly stood up, walking over to the flashing phone.

"Yes?" he snapped. The conversation was brief but halfway through his eyes lit up, and he turned to John, smiling. He ended the call, turning to John.

"We have a job." John sighed.

"Is it a job worth your time?" Sherlock hadn't actually asked, Lestrade had just said he would like the two of them to accompany him to a crime scene.

"Come John, a job is a job, and I need fresh air."

- x -

This murder was just like any other boring and somewhat pointless case to Holmes, it only took him a brief look at the scene and body before he came to the conclusion that there were more than 2 people involved in the murder, the house that the body was in wasn't actually his and that the crime scene was actually that of a break in and the man who was dead had been part of a three man team; therefore the three of them must have had a dispute about something and it had ended with the man been stabbed and left for dead.

As Holmes walked around the house he realised that the owners of the house must have gone away due to the fact there was no evidence to suggest the house had been lived in recently, dust had begun to collect upon objects and the heating and water systems had been shut off completely; but a neighbour must have a spare key because there was no post.

"I'm done here inspector," Holmes said to Lestrade "Check any CCTV footage of the surrounding area, look out for three people and then you can find the killers," he instructed before turning to Watson who had been examining the body quietly as Sherlock did what he did best and jumped slightly when Sherlock bent down to Johns level. "Finished?" He asked John, smiling at him.

"Yes, I am, I was just…um…" he trailed off as he looked up at the consulting detective, the amount of wine he had had over dinner was making him feel slightly dizzy, and he wobbled as he stood up.

"Home," Sherlock stepped aside to let John pass as the smaller man nodded, both heading for the door.

"Where is your evidence Holmes?" Sherlock stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heels to face the man, his fists clenched. John looked at his colleague, he knew Sherlock was going through one of his periods of extreme ennui, and this case wasn't exactly interesting to Sherlock, plus it had interrupted their dinner.

"The evidence is all around you Anderson, maybe if you used your eyes to look at the crime scene instead of mentally undressing Sergeant Donovan you would have come to the same conclusion," John snapped before Sherlock had a chance to comment. The room fell silent, John wasn't usually the one to snap; maybe Sherlock's habits were rubbing off onto him...or it was the influence of wine.

"Are you telling me you came to the same conclusion as Sherlock?" Anderson questioned.

"Yes, he did, because, unlike you Anderson, John actually has a high level intelligence," Sherlock stated. The corner of John's lips curled into a small smile, it was rare for Sherlock to comment on anyone's intellectual capabilities, and in his eyes everyone's mind and intelligence were inferior. "Anyway, John and I have business to attend to; come John." Sherlock turned walking towards the door, pulling the smaller man behind him.

John took a deep breath of fresh air once outside, turning to Holmes, who did the same thing.

"Walk or taxi?" John asked. Sherlock didn't reply, but heading in the direction of the park; looked like they were walking back to Baker Street.

The journey home was passed in silence, only the odd comment about the weather or the crime scene broke the silence; John still smiling about Sherlock's compliment, whether or not he meant it was a different story, but for now John imagined he meant it, of course the alcohol in their systems wasn't exactly helping.

John's heart leapt out of his chest when Sherlock reached for his hand, holding it in his, entwining their fingers, giving John's hand a small squeeze.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?" Holmes suddenly asked, smiling down at the red faced man, who blushed more, unable to find his voice, but he shook his head, holding onto Sherlock's hand, stroking the back of it.

_Don't get your hopes up, after all he is drunk and you are taking advantage of him._

Sherlock squeezed the man's hand again before letting go, shoving his hands in his pocket, offering Watson a sheepish smile.

When they arrived back at Baker Street both men stripped from their coats and shoes, heading to the living room where the half full bottle of wine greeted them. Sherlock picked the bottle up, turning to John.

"That's handy, enough wine left for a glass each." Sherlock poured the wine into glasses before slouching on the sofa, resting his head on the back of it, closing his eyes, tapping his lap, indicating he wanted John to join him. John sat on the floor between Sherlock's legs, resting his head on the cushion.

With his free hand, Sherlock began to stroke John's hairline with his index and middle finger, slowly. John let out a sigh, relaxing.

"I could fall asleep like this," he murmured, taking a sip of wine.

"Or you could fall asleep up here with me." He tucked John's hair behind his ear, to see if he was blushing, and he was, his ears pink and heated. Sherlock put his wine down, snaking his arms under the man's armpits, dragging him onto the sofa. John adjusted himself so that his head was resting on Sherlock's lap and the rest of his body lay across the sofa. "Now sleep," Sherlock instructed.

"What about my wine?" John asked, reaching to pick up his glass which was still full compared to Sherlock's glass.

"Say aahh." John opened his mouth before Sherlock poured what was left in his glass into John's mouth, catching a drop of the wine that had missed John's mouth. "And I shall finish your wine, which solves that problem. Now sleep."

John closed his eyes as Sherlock began to stroke his forehead.

"Goodnight Sherlock." Holmes lent down and placed a light kiss upon the smaller man's forehead where he was stroking.

"Goodnight John."

(Please let me know what you think ^^ more to come) x


	2. Chapter 2

John wrapped his arms around his pillow, nuzzling into the silky fabric, letting out a quiet sigh; trying to ignore his pounding headache, he had definitely had too much wine last night, the headache was the main giveaway, but last night's events were a bit foggy, and he couldn't remember making it to his bedroom. He lay on his bed trying to remember, but gave up because it hurt to think.

As the doctor began to come round he realised that his pillow was moving, no not moving, breathing. He gasped as he realised what had happened, his eyes shoot open, coming face to face with Sherlock's hairy chest. John pulled his arms free, which were tucked under Sherlock and he tried to move without waking the taller man, struggling to untangle their legs and loosen the grip Sherlock had around his waist.

John eventually gave up, too tired to struggle and flopped back onto Sherlock's chest, snuggling up to the sleeping man. He took the opportunity to stare at Sherlock without the fear that he might see him doing so. John's eyes wandered over the other man's face, and he reached up to brush one of his brown curls from his face, his fingers then moved to trace along Sherlock's jaw to his chin. From his chin John's fingers made their way down his throat, brushing against his Adam's apple. John's fingers moved to the collar of Sherlock's purple shirt, the one he secretly loved to see him in. He pulled the collar down, revealing the man's neck. John swallowed, not wanting to push his luck.

"Sherlock?" he called his name three more times before coming to the conclusion the man was asleep, but just to make sure he ripped Sherlock's nicotine patch off.

Satisfied that Sherlock was asleep John lent down, kissing his neck before nipping gently at the delicate, pale skin. His tongue snaked out and licked where he had been nibbling before he pressed his lips against the damp skin and gently sucked, stopping in between sucks to lick at the mark he was creating, stopping when he could taste blood.

John mentally kicked himself, this time making the effort to escape Sherlock's grip, heading to the bathroom. He needed a shower, a cold shower. John sat in the corner of the shower, letting the water fall on him, despite how cold the water was John didn't shiver, his body was so hot and flustered the chill was welcoming. He dragged his fingers through his hair, annoyed with himself, annoyed that he had done such a thing to Sherlock without permission or even trying to discuss their relationship.

The berocca tablet fizzed at the bottom of the glass, the doctor occasionally stirring the water to help it dissolve faster. Whether or not the tablets would help with his hangover was another thing, so just in case he decided to take some painkillers as well. John froze when he heard movement from the living room, holding his breath as Sherlock rose from the sofa, turning to face him, a sleepy smile spread across his lips as he stretched, revealing his toned stomach and snail-trail of hair. John gawked at the man; he was almost too irresistible, especially in the morning, John kicked himself again, the fact the man was so irresistible was the reason John had almost lost control this morning. The doctor dropped another berocca tablet into some water for Sherlock, handing it to him.

"Or maybe you'd prefer something stronger?" Sherlock took the glass, taking a sip of the disgusting drink.

"Or both," he said, flicking the kettle on. John dared a peek at Sherlock's neck, taking a sharp intake of breath when he saw how prominent his mark was against the pale skin, and of course, once Sherlock noticed the mark it would be hard to deny that it had been made by him.

"Fresh air?" John asked, downing the last of his orange coloured drink, heading to his bedroom to get changed, smiling at Sherlock's expression. Sherlock made himself a coffee, not bothering to change; he knew how much John liked purple on him.

John looked through his wardrobe, unsure of what to wear. He picked out a pair of jeans and a woolly jumper, grabbing his parker on the way out, heading back downstairs.

"Why do you still have that coat John?" Sherlock asked, finishing his coffee and placing the mug on the side.

"I think you know the answer to that Sherlock, I'm sure you and your mind can deduce that much." John smiled, teasing.

"It's sentimental to you, and it's sentimental to me too." John frowned.

"Why is it sentimental to you?"

"Because it's the first time you risked your life for me, and it's when I realised something." John held his breath, the air between them had changed, it was intensified, heavy, and John felt a tingle surging through his body.

"Realised what?" John managed to squeak, swallowing. Sherlock leaned closer to John, who was almost squirming under Holmes' gaze. His lips were so close to John's and the small man felt his cheeks begin to heat.

"I realised tha-"

"Oh good morning boys!" Mrs Hudson's voice came from the stairs. "I didn't expect you two to be up this early." She was holding some fruit, she always brought small supplies up for them, and she knew John sometimes had a hard time keeping up with Sherlock's eating habits. Sherlock turned sharply to face the landlady, grabbing one of the apples from her hand, thanking her before walking down the stairs; John quickly grabbed Sherlock's scarf, running after the taller, dark haired man, flustered and red-faced, Mrs Hudson winking at him as he passed.

The two of them strolled through Regent's park, Sherlock had the scarf securely wrapped around his neck, covering the mark, which made John relax, he was able to keep the evidence of his erratic passion to himself for a little longer; then yet again, he wanted to show Sherlock how he felt, was the man really blind to John's obvious feelings for him, surely the events of the landing 10 minutes ago was evidence enough.

"John?"

Sherlock wasn't cruel enough to lead him on, on their first _date_ he had made it clear he was married to his work; but, Sherlock had said he didn't have friends and here John was, Sherlock's only friend. Maybe his feelings for him did just stop at friend, maybe he was no more than a colleague and a flatmate; but they held hands, they ate dinner alone together, they cuddled…ok, they cuddled and held hands when they were drunk; but it had to count for something.

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted. The smaller man jumped, looking up into Sherlock's eyes.

"Yes?" Holmes rolled his eyes, pushing John in the direction of a bench, telling him to sit, before disappearing. John was left to his thoughts again and found himself biting at his nails; at least Sherlock wasn't there to deduce everything he was doing. John looked around after about 5 minutes of sitting alone, wandering where Sherlock had gone, although it didn't surprise John, Sherlock was always wandering off without telling anyone where he was going, although recently he hadn't run off alone, he had asked John to go with him, that had to be another good sign.

A cup was presented in front of John's face and he took it, tilting his head back so he could see Sherlock, who was smiling down at him.

"Thank you," John smiled back. Sherlock jumped over the bench and sat next to him, both sipping at their coffee. "What should we do today then?" John asked, digging into his pockets to find his gloves, handing them to Sherlock.

"We could…go to the zoo?" John almost spat his coffee out, looking at Sherlock as if he was joking.

"London zoo?"

"Yes of course London zoo, is there another zoo around here?" Sherlock almost snapped. John should have replaced the nicotine patch after he ripped it off, but Sherlock hadn't noticed yet, only his mood made it obvious he didn't have one on.

"Ok…London zoo it is…shall we?" John stood up heading in the direction of the zoo, Sherlock following close behind.

Sherlock paid for both of them, despite John offering him money. Truth be told John was actually excited about going to the zoo, he'd never been but had always wanted to, now he was there with Sherlock.

John found himself been dragged around the zoo by Holmes, he was like a child, not able to stand still, but John didn't mind, he was enjoying himself just as much as Sherlock…maybe a little bit more due to the fact Sherlock was holding his hand.

The only time they stopped for longer than a couple minutes was when they sat down for lunch, John had offered seen as Sherlock had paid to get in, but the dark haired man refused and insisted that he was the one to buy lunch because he was the host of the _date_. That had made John's heart flutter and he allowed Sherlock to pay, been left alone with his thoughts again, the fact that Sherlock had called their visit to the zoo a _date_ made John a little more hopeful. But _date_ had two meanings: a social appointment or a romantic appointment…this could be either one of those.

"Do you remember when we went to Dartmoor?" Sherlock suddenly asked when he returned.

"Yes Sherlock, I remember when we went to Dartmoor, why do you ask?"

"What do you remember about it?"

"Everything," John stated, not wanting to reveal too much, because been at Dartmoor had made John decide for certain that he loved Sherlock. When Sherlock had seen the _Hound_ and had broken down due to the foreign feelings that he was been plagued by, John had never seen Holmes so vulnerable and wanted to do everything he could to help Sherlock and to please him, plus the fact they had to share a bed at the inn, that had pleased John to no end, and Sherlock didn't seem too bothered either; but he remembered Dartmoor for another reason, they had had their first proper argument in Dartmoor, which had broken John's heart, but Sherlock had apologised, as best as he could, and that's when he had told John that he was Sherlock's only friend, but even before Sherlock had apologised John had already forgiven him.

The two of them ate, no doubt Sherlock was trying to figure out what John had mean by _everything_. Without thinking john added sugar to Sherlock's coffee, stirring it for him, continuing to eat his sandwich, a cheese and pickle one; he smiled, of course Sherlock knew what sandwiches he liked, plus, John hadn't had a cheese and pickle sandwich in awhile, he welcomed the taste it brought to his mouth, he had almost forgotten it.

They had spent 3 hours in the zoo, plus another hour eating. They walked back towards Baker Street walking the way then had come.

"What should we do now John, it's your turn to pick," Sherlock said as he looped his arm through the smaller mans.

"If I was to pick something Sherlock, you would complain that it was boring or that you didn't feel like doing it." The corner of Sherlock's lips curled into a smile.

"Doing _it_." Sherlock muttered to himself, sniggering. "Should we head back to Baker Street?" John rolled his eyes agreeing, letting Sherlock drag him through Regents Park.

"I made dinner arrangements," John said was they strolled down the quiet park. "For the two of us." He clarified when he saw Sherlock's shoulders tense, before relaxing.

"Where are we having dinner?"

"At the small Italian on Northumberland Street, the place we first had dinner together." Of course Sherlock remembered where they had first had dinner, it's the place they had been when they had been solving their first case together, and they had been there before running after the taxi.

Back at Baker Street John found himself in his room, looking at possible outfits to wear tonight, the Italian wasn't exactly fancy, but John wanted to look good. Meanwhile Sherlock was doing the exact same thing downstairs. Once John had sorted his outfit out he wandered into the living room, turning the television on, flicking through the channels; Sherlock joining him on the sofa, resting his legs on John, who just stroked one of them, without realising.

John's face reddened when he realised he had been stroking Sherlock's legs, pausing for the briefest of moments before continuing. He raised an eyebrow as his mind picked up on something, every time his hand stroked close to Sherlock's ankle the man would tense slightly, John tried to hold back a smile as he turned to the dark haired man.

To test his theory, as the two of them were staring at each other John ran the back of his finger along the top of Sherlock's foot, watching the man squirm slightly, before running his nail along the bottom of his foot. Sherlock squealed, pulling his leg back, and John couldn't help the laugh that escaped from his lips.

"The great Sherlock Holmes' weakness is been tickled," John cried out in hysterics as Sherlock tired to cover the bottom of his feet as much as possible so he couldn't be tickled further.

"Sherlock Holmes only has one weakness and it is not his feet." The man stated. "My weakness is someon-" he couldn't finish his sentence, John had reached over, grabbing one of his ankles and holding his foot in place to tickle him. Sherlock cried out laughing as John did, reaching up to tickle John's armpits, at first the doctor didn't react, but as Sherlock continued, the tickle obviously began to effect John as he had to wriggle away from his touch; both falling back, panting, still laughing at each other.

"Well that was interesting," John said shuffling to get comfy again. "I didn't realise how human you actually were." John pat his lap, indicating Sherlock to put his feet back. Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm not falling for that John, you're not going anywhere near my feet now." Sherlock crawled along the sofa, lying with his head on John's lap and his feet at the other end. "That's better." Sherlock let out a sigh, closing his eyes as if he was ready to take a nap. John's heart was beating out of his chest, his stomach doing back flips. "Why are you nervous John?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"I'm not nervous…why would I be nervous?"

"Do you really want me to go through all the evidence that indicates you are nervous?" Sherlock questioned, looking up at John. The smaller man shook his head, his eyes darting to the mark on Sherlock's neck at was now visible as Sherlock turned towards him.

"That would give you an excuse to show off," John teased, bopping Sherlock on the nose with his finger. The two of them watched the television, a cooking programme which was focused on Asian food and drink. Although it was obvious that neither of them were paying attention, both lost in their own thoughts. John looked at the clock, attempting to stand up so he could go and get changed, but Sherlock refused to budge. "Sherlock move, I've got to go get changed."

"But I'm comfy," the dark haired man complained.

"Sherlock if you don't move I'm not taking you out to dinner." That made Sherlock move and he sulked at the other end of the sofa, frowning with his arms crossed, watching as John left the room.

John pulled on some black trousers and a light blue shirt, not bothering with a tie, looking at himself in the mirror, quickly putting some aftershave on, and heading back to Sherlock. Sherlock had also decided to get changed, wearing a white shirt with his black trousers; he was pulling his blazer on as John entered.

"That colour suits you." Sherlock stared a little too long, making John blush.

"It's um…new." John fidgeted in the doorway. "There's a taxi waiting, we should probably hurry." Sherlock agreed, grabbing his coat and scarf, handing John his parker.

"Does this count as a date?" Sherlock asked when they were in the taxi, heading to the restaurant.

"It can be whatever you want it to be Sherlock," John replied. "But yes, a date would be the best way of describing what we are doing."

"Hmm…a social date or a romantic date?" Sherlock watched as John's cheeks reddened in the dark taxi, smiling to himself, oh yes, he knew how to wind John up, but he was actually intrigued as to which date this was classed as.

The taxi stopped outside the little Italian and John paid, following Sherlock inside where they were both greeted by Sherlock's old friend who sat them down and offered them free food and wine, which they both accepted, John would leave some money to cover the meal afterwards.

"What are you going to have?" John asked as Sherlock scanned the menu.

"I think I'll have the salmon tagliatelle, and a bottle of white wine." John looked back down at the menu. "What are you having?" Sherlock asked, opening up his napkin, getting it ready for when the food arrived.

"Well I was going to have the same, but I'll get the chicken and mushroom ravioli and an extra bottle of white wine after we finish the first." John smiled, oh yes, they would be getting through at least two bottles of wine, it's not like they had to be up for anything.

"Ravioli sounds nice, we could always share the dishes," Sherlock's eyes lit up and they smiled at each other, giving their order to a rather pretty waitress. Sherlock watching John reaction, which, to his surprise John didn't react the way he used to, he barely noticed the girl.

John froze when Sherlock scratched his neck where the mark was, hoping that he didn't notice, Sherlock noticed John slightly pale face, frowning at him. "What?" he asked, turning to look behind him; John quickly composed himself, smiling.

"Nothing I just thought I saw someone I knew from the army." That was the best thing he could come up with and rolled his eyes.

"Oh right…John do I have something on my face? The lady over there keeps staring." Sherlock leaned closer to John as if to give him a better look.

"Maybe she's staring because you're irresistibly handsome?" John cringed, brain to mouth malfunction.

"You think I'm irresistibly handsome?" Sherlock asked, amused, running his index finger along his lips, watching John's eyes follow their movement.

"No, I – I was just saying that's probably what she thinks." John sighed looking down at the table; the wine arriving at the table right on queue; as soon as John's glass was full he grabbed it, take a large swig of the liquid, shivering lightly. Sherlock just watched him, amused at how easy it was to get John flustered.

"Sorry John, I'm only teasing," Sherlock said as he reached for John's hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He felt John's pulse rise through his fingertips which were lightly pressed against the other man's wrist and he had watched his pupils dilate, oh yes; John was completely smitten by him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock had woken up early to the sound of his phone ringing, John was still fast asleep…in his bed, which had shocked the man so much he had fallen onto the floor, but they were still clothed, John snoring as Sherlock left the room. It had been Lestrade on the phone asking him to go to the police station, and of course Sherlock was quick to get changed and hurried down to the police station, not bothering to wake John up.

Sherlock had been at the police station for the last 3 hours, going through the profile of a dead lady Lestrade and his team had found during the night, he had tried to call Sherlock last night, but he hadn't picked up and nor had John.

"Speaking of John, where is he?" Lestrade asked, confused, normally if you got one, the other wasn't far away.

"Where is the body now?" Holmes asked, completely ignoring Lestrade's question and was already heading down the corridor, Lestrade following.

"The body is morgue." But of course Sherlock already knew where it was.

The two men entered the morgue where Molly was working; she had the body out for them, Lestrade had obviously contacted her, which had also given her time to applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. Sherlock unzipped the bag, looking at the small body, getting his magnifying glass out and began to exam.

"Is John alright?" the inspector suddenly asked. Sherlock stopped what he was doing, turning to face him, frowning.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock's voice was guarded.

"Well the other day, when he snapped at Anderson, that's not like John, I was just wondering if everything is alright, seen as he isn't here, with you..." Sherlock relaxed a little, going back to looking at the body.

"Of course he's fine; you know what he's like…very protective." Lestrade nodded slightly, in agreement, bending down to look at the body as well.

"Are _you_ alright?" Sherlock sighed turning to Lestrade, who was been a nosy parker. Sherlock didn't say anything, his eyes had caught something and he began frantically looking over the body, standing to remove his coat and scarf, placing them on one of the other tables, asking Molly and Lestrade to help him turn the body over; Molly catching a glimpse of the _love bite_ John had given him the other morning.

"Did your girlfriend give you that?" she asked, shocked. Sherlock clenched his fists.

"Give me what? Why is everyone been so nosy today?" Sherlock snapped, Lestrade and Molly looked at each other, Lestrade involuntarily sniggering, receiving an icy glance from Sherlock. Molly removed herself from the room, leaving Lestrade and Holmes alone with the body.

"This lady died after taking a fatal overdose of aspirin, she'd cut her arms before hand, self harm, before taking the aspirin which stopped her blood clotting, she would have died slowly; where did you say you found the body?" this wasn't exactly the most difficult thing to realise, but it could lead to a case, the woman would have had to take a huge amount of aspirin to end up dead, and have been taking large amounts for a long time before she had died.

"She was found down river from the Tower of London. Why?"

"She didn't kill herself there, look for her partner, they dumped her in the river after panicking that they would get the blame for her death," Sherlock said turning the body back over and zipping the bag up, washing his hands; splashing his face with some of the cool water.

"So who did give you that love bite?" Lestrade asked, not thinking much of it. Sherlock froze, turning sharply to face Lestrade.

"What love bite?" Sherlock growled, turning to look at the mirror, pulling down the collar of his shirt to see the mark on his neck, looking at it closely; oh he knew exactly who the culprit was. "That crafty little sphinx." He whispered, almost smiling, but he was still slightly angry.

_A sign of his love, it's a sign of passion, love, ok so he loves me? Could be marking what is his, he has always been protective, he values my life more than his own, his interest in woman has declined, but this is John…, the shape of the mark, the size, John is the only one who can get close, the other night when we were on the sofa, of course, neck had been tingling, due to sleeping awkwardly? No, because John had given me the love bite, that's also the reason John had wanted to get fresh air, he knew I would wear my scarf, hiding the mark, keeping it secret for longer, hoping it would vanish before I noticed it._

Sherlock's mind gave him a few answers and he turned back to Lestrade.

"Lestrade, how do you show your love for someone?" he felt like an idiot asking Lestrade this question, but he had known the man for a long time, recently he was beginning to class the inspector as a friend, but he wouldn't go that far just yet.

"You're asking me about love? My wife cheated on me…I'm hardly the best one to come to for love advice Sherlock, what's brought this on anyway?"

Sherlock paced in front of Lestrade, he would go to Mycroft, but his older brother would probably say: "_Caring is not an advantage_" or something like that, like he always did, he was so sceptical, but then again Sherlock had once said that "_love is a dangerous disadvantage_" and here he was, love bite on his neck from the man he secretly loved, and yes of course he knew he was in love with John, his blogger had melt his cold heart and had given him the chance to love, to be loved.

"How can I show how much someone means to me, I mean really means to me?"

"Hang on; you're in love with someone?" Lestrade asked, finally getting what Sherlock was on about. Sherlock took a deep breath, nodding once. "In love with who?" Lestrade didn't really need to ask, a small part of his brain provided the answer. Sherlock nodded at the inspector's silent question. "Should we go get a coffee?" Lestrade asked; if Sherlock wanted someone to talk to was going to listen and try to help, Sherlock had helped him for the last 5 years so it was his turn to repay the man, even though he found this situation bazaar.

The two of them sat in the small café, away from the eyes and ears of people, sat in the corner.

"When did you realise you liked him in that way?" Lestrade asked, not sure what questions were good to ask, so he decided to go with ones that were easy to answer, if Sherlock didn't want to answer a question he didn't have to, but Sherlock wasn't going to open up without been prompted.

"Our first case together made me realise how valuable this man was, I'm not good with people, but there's just something about John, as time went on it was obvious we needed each other, I'd like to think my feelings weren't unrequited." The inspector wasn't sure what to say.

"Sherlock, I think deep down John loves you, if he didn't love you I don't think he would put up with you, he's probably afraid of been hurt or losing you as a friend, scared that if he tried to become more than your friend you would reject him." Sherlock's head suddenly snapped up, of course, he had been blind and stupid. He had once told John he was: "_Married to my work"_, John wasn't making a move without Sherlock making one first because he didn't want to overstep the boundaries and potentially ruin what they had. Sherlock let out a laugh, a triumphant laugh. He thanked Lestrade for his time, asking him to keep their conversation private, everyone would find out in due time. Lestrade was left confused, watching the man almost skip past the window before hailing a taxi.

Sherlock almost tripped running up the stairs and into the flat, panting at the top of the stairs, walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on, searching for some biscuits, realising they didn't have any so quickly wrote a note to Mrs Hudson:

_Run out of biscuits_

_SH_

Sherlock ran down the stairs and posted it under her door, she would find it. John still wasn't up when he returned to their flat, he was sure all the banging he was making would have aroused the man from his sleep.

"John! Get up!" Sherlock shouted, listening for movement. After another 5 minutes Sherlock walked into his bedroom, there was no John. The man quickly ran to the doctors room, but he wasn't their either. Sherlock frantically looked for his phone, ringing John's number 3 times before someone picked up, but it wasn't John's voice, it was Mycroft's voice. Sherlock sighed with relief; at least John hadn't been kidnapped by someone dangerous. "Why have you kidnapped John?" Sherlock asked, frustrated.

"Oh we were just having a friendly chat, the usual."

"Put John on." He could hear the phone been passed, sighing again when he heard John's voice.

"I did try and text you, but the signal is pretty poor around here." Sherlock laughed, asking his doctor where he was, but of course he couldn't say, and asked Mycroft if he could go. "I'll be home soon, once I'm driven somewhere and released, hopefully outside Baker Street, but you never know," John laughed down the phone before hanging up.

Sherlock sunk onto the sofa, he didn't know why he had gotten so worked up, but John had been kidnapped before and Sherlock didn't want to lose him, he cared enough to worry, just like John worried when he went missing. 30 minutes late he heard a car pull up outside, he quickly got up, re-boiling the kettle, placing coffee granules into two mugs.

"I wish Billy-no-mates would stop kidnapping you just to have a chat," Sherlock said when he heard John enter the kitchen.

"He woke me up." Sherlock smiled, making John a coffee. "What time did you leave this morning?" John asked, going to sit on the sofa.

"Lestrade had a case he needed me to look at; I didn't want to wake you up." Sherlock walked over to the sofa, sitting down next to John. "Should we watch some daytime television rubbish?" Holmes asked placing is mug on the table and grabbed the remote, flicking through the channels, putting a documentary on about Britain's coastline, this was something easy to watch, and it had just started. Sherlock stretched, reaching his arm behind John, pulling the man close to him, stroking his shoulder with his thumb. John slowly relaxed, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder and his hand on his thigh.

The programme was actually very interesting and Sherlock found he was almost fascinated, wanting to watch more, and luckily for him there was a second episode on after, 2 hours of his day wasted on watching television, and that wasn't including the mind numbing adverts. Sherlock went to refill his mug with some coffee and John took the opportunity to take up the sofa, getting comfy, looking for a blanket.

"John, get out of my seat."

"I'm not on _your_ seat, I'm on _our_ seat," John corrected him, trying to refrain from smiling. What John hadn't expected was Sherlock to put his coffee down and climb behind John, spooning him, grabbing one of the other cushions so he could prop his head up high enough to see the television, snuggling up to John with the blanket over them.

"Snug as a bug in a rug." John snorted at Sherlock's silly little rhyme. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist as the second episode of the documentary started, pulling the smaller man closer to his chest and planted a kiss on the back of his head. John's insides melt at the attention, and he cuddled up to Sherlock, entwining their fingers under the sheet, closing his eyes, relishing in the moment. They weren't drunk and they were holding each other like this, it spread hope through John, he allowed himself to believe that he and Sherlock could be together. The doctor traces circles around Holmes' palm.

"Round and round the garden like a teddy bear," he murmured. "Oh wait, that's the solar system." They both burst out laughing.

"We aren't watching a programme about the solar system."

"Maybe we should be, you seem to be lacking in that area." Sherlock tightened his grip around John's waist; bring his lips close to the man's ear.

"I'm enjoying this hug with you, even if we were watching a programme about the solar system I wouldn't be paying attention when I have you here in my arms," Sherlock whispered before gently nibbling John's earlobe. John shivered, leaning into Sherlock's touch. The dark haired man began to kiss down John's neck, feeling the man's erratic heartbeat through his lips, he parted them, gently sucking at this skin; John let out an involuntary moan as Sherlock continued creating the mark, just like John had.

"Now you're mine, just like I'm yours," Sherlock whispered once he had finished. John didn't move, trying to get his heart back to a regular beat, his fingers still tightly entwined with Sherlock's. Sherlock lent down, kissing John on the forehead, releasing him, John frowning as he did. "Mrs Hudson." John shuffled too, sitting up as Mrs Hudson walked in, not bothering to knock, she never did.

"I got you those biscuits you were after Sherlock," she said walking into the kitchen, looking for a biscuit jar, giving up after she opened the 4th cupboard, placing the packet on the side.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson, we can always rely on you." Sherlock smiled at her, standing up. "John and I were just about to order a take-away, care to join us?" John grabbed the phone book, somewhere he had written the number for Sherlock's favourite Chinese take-away, passing it to the taller man.

"How did you know I wanted Chinese?" Sherlock asked as his eyes scanned the page.

"You don't eat any other kind of take-away." Sherlock stuck his tongue out at John, turning back to Mrs Hudson.

"Oh I would love you join you, as long as you order some noodles, I haven't had a Chinese take-away in years." Mrs Hudson was now over-the-moon, getting the plates sorted; it was rare for the boys to ask her to stay for dinner, even if this was just a take-away.

Whilst Sherlock was calling the Chinese John quickly ran to the bathroom, staring at the love bite Sherlock had just made, his face turning bright red when he realised that he wouldn't be able to hide it, he'd have to invest in a scarf. The bathroom handle turned and Sherlock poked his head around the door, mouthing to him '_what would you like to eat_?' John shrugged.

"Stir-fry chicken with seasonal vegetables, and a side of egg fried rice with that," Sherlock instructed down the phone, making John's mind up for him, winking as he left the room; it was like the first time they met, it still took John's breath away.

"John dear," Mrs Hudson called. "Would you like a drink?" John splashed his face with some water, drying off and leaving the bathroom.

"White wine please Mrs Hudson." He heard the cork popping off the top of a new bottle as he threw on a jumper, but it barely covered the mark, at least the mark he had given Sherlock was small and easy to hide.

For once Sherlock and John found themselves eating dinner at the table, not at the sofa, Mrs Hudson kept the conversation, and wine, flowing, enjoying the company. Sherlock spent most of the time gazing at John, watching his face redden when they locked eyes for too long; trying to hold back a smile when Mrs Hudson noticed the mark on John's neck, but she didn't mention anything, it would probably embarrass her more than John.

It was well past midnight by the time Mrs Hudson wandered downstairs, with the help of John as Sherlock chucked the plates into the sink. John stumbled back up the stairs, heading to his bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock asked, grabbing John and pulling him back.

"I was going to bed." Sherlock shook his head, dragging him towards his room.

"You're drunk John, I don't want you stumbling down those stairs and potentially hurting yourself." John rolled his eyes.

"I was almost at the top of the stairs when you grabbed hold of me, if I was to hurt myself it would be your fault," John huffed. Sherlock smiled, continuing to drag the doctor to his bedroom, beginning to undress, he didn't really want to sleep in his clothes again, pulling on some pyjama bottoms, handing a pair to John, who blushed before doing the same.

"Go on, pick a side to sleep on, bearing in mind I always sleep on the right," Sherlock teased before walking to the bathroom to brush his teeth, John following. They stood looked at each other in the mirror, brushing their teeth; John blushed every time his eyes caught a glimpse of their love bites. John frowned, his mind picking up on the fact they had shared such intimate moments, given each other love bites, but hadn't kissed yet, not on the lips anyway. He sauntered off to Sherlock's bedroom, and just to be annoying, climbed in on the right side of the bed, getting comfy.

Sherlock crawled onto the bed, prowling over to John, who was doing a poor job of pretending to be asleep.

"You're on my side of the bed," he murmured, nuzzled against John's ear. Sherlock reached for John's hand, tracing his finger around his palm.

"Sherlock, don't you dare, I'm comfy." John moaned in annoyance.

"Round and round the garden like a teddy bear…one step." His fingers walking up John's bare arm, the man tried to pull his arm away. "Two stop." Sherlock's fingers were on his shoulder now, and John was almost squealing with anticipation. "And tickle you under there." Sherlock began to tickle John, the doctor turning involuntarily which allowed Sherlock to tickle under his other armpit.

"Sherlock this is unfair!" John cried out with laughter, he felt like a child again, he feebly tried to fight back. "Ok ok! I'll move." He laughed, trying to catch his breath. Sherlock sat back on his heels, smiling; he knew how to get his own way now. Sherlock suddenly found himself pinned to the bed, John holding Sherlock's wrists so he couldn't move.

The consulting detective's eyes wandered down John's bare chest, and for once he found himself blushing at the proximity between them. He tried struggling to release John's grip. "You forget I was in the army," John teased, tensing his muscles; Sherlock swallowed, craning his neck to plant a kiss on the doctor's chin, John's breath becoming hitched, Sherlock took the opportunity to wriggle his arms free, wrapping them around John's neck, pulling his face to his.

"John, I -" John pressed his lips gently against Sherlock's before he could finish what he was going to say and they lay on the bed, kissing. Sherlock's tongue snaked out and licked against John's lower lip, asking permission, the man parted his lips in response, letting out a quiet moan.

Both men stopped, pulling back for air, a blush had spread across John's body, smiling sheepishly at Sherlock who was practically panting beneath him. "Bedtime I think." John agreed, crawling under the covers on the left side of the bed; Sherlock joined him, wrapping his arms around his bloggers waist, leaning over to peck at his lips, forcing himself to stop before he got carried away. "Goodnight John," He whispered, lying down, snuggling up to him.

"Goodnight Sherlock." John sighed, overwhelmed all of a sudden, why had they stopped? John grabbed his phone from his trousers, quickly sending a text to Harry:

_I need your help _

_John x_

He turned over, kissing Sherlock on the forehead, sinking into the pillow, exhausted.


	4. Chapter 4

John was silent, stirring his tea like he had been for the past 10 minutes, harry just watched her brother, wondering what was so important that he needed to talked to her, and with such short notice; she knew it had something to do with the love bite on his neck, John was having relationship issues, but why ask her?

"Nice place you've got here." It was the only thing John had said, apart from _Hello _when she had opened the door.

"Yes, it's cosy," Harry agreed, she had never been a fan of small talk, this was just aggravating. "John." Harry sighed, looking down at her hands that were folded in her lap. "John why are you here?" the doctor placed his cup on the coffee table, taking a deep breath.

"I need your advice, I know we haven't exactly been getting on recently, but you've been there for me in the past, and I was wondering if we could overcome our differences and make an effort to be friends." Harry raised her eyebrows, this was John apologising, in his own unique way, but she knew he meant well.

"What's wrong?"

"Last night." He took a deep breath. "Last night I found myself in bed with Sherlock," John said, watching his sister's reaction. She sat back in her chair, shocked.

"You mean you and Sherlock…" she trailed off, John's head snapping up when he realised what she was implying.

"No – God no – nothing like that," John stumbled, tripping over his words. "We were just…kissing…and stuff." He cringed, that didn't sound too good either.

"And you're not gay are you, is that the problem?" Harry asked, trying to piece things together. John went back to been silent. Harry did think about offering him an alcoholic drink, that would loosen his tongue, but she was trying to stop drinking so she could have a better relationship with John. "Can we walk and talk?" John asked. Harry sighed, but agreed.

It was cold and windy as they walked through Hyde Park; John had brought them some take-away coffees from the small café, drinking them as they strolled along the river.

"You been…not gay is the problem then?" Harry finally asked, annoyed that she had to be out in the cold to get John to talk. John nodded. "For God sake John!" Harry snapped. "Swallow that pride of yours and admit that you are." She wasn't happy. "There is nothing wrong with liking Sherlock in that way, he obviously likes you…more than a friend, judging from that mark on your neck, you don't do that unless you love someone."

"I - I don't find men…men in general, they're not attractive." John paused. "I just find _him _attractive…" John mumbled. "I crave him, crave his company." As John said this a tear rolled down his cheek and he rubbed it away, frustrated that he was almost crying.

"John, look at me." John turned to his sister, the sharp sting of her palm hitting his cheek made him gasp, more out of shock than pain. "You should be saying this to him, not me." John rubbed his cheek.

"But last night, when we were kissing, he just stopped and we went to bed, I'm worried he changed his mind or something…you don't just stop…" John's voice was a whisper, even though there was no one around, they were the only two mad enough to be walking on such a horrible day.

"You've never slept with a man have you?" John frowned, of course he hadn't, and even she knew that. "And Sherlock is a virgin right?"

"Yes."

"Exactly, maybe he didn't want to rush into things because this is a completely new thing, for both of you, more daunting for Sherlock because he's never slept with anyone before…you see my point?"

"But-" his sister cut him off.

"But what?" John winced, scared he was about to get another slap from his sister. "You want my advice?" Harry snapped. "Go back home and tell Sherlock how you feel, that's my advice, take it or leave it!" John was sulking now, been shouted at by his older sister, he knew she was right. "You need to talk to him, and make sure you are on the same page; don't ruin things with Sherlock like I did with Clara." She sighed before wrapping her arms around her brother, squeezing him. "I just want you to be happy John; I don't want you to have the same regrets I do."

"You're the one who ended that." John's voice was muffled by Harriet's coat.

"That doesn't mean I can't regret ending it." They stopped hugging when the rain became heavier, pulling up their hoods. "Go home John and tell Sherlock how you feel." She hugged him one last time. "Send him my regards." Harry was already walking towards the underground, waving over her shoulder. John dug his hands into his pocket, marching off in the direction of Baker Street, oblivious to the black car waiting for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Deadly Ritual**

Sherlock was woken up by loud banding and shouting, it took him awhile to come round, realising that the noise wasn't in his sleep, he grabbed his dressing gown, wrapping it around his body before stumbling to the door.

"Sherlock!" It was Lestrade's voice, Sherlock quickly opened the door.

"Why didn't you just come in?" he asked, confused, Lestrade never usually knocked.

"I didn't want to come in, just in case you and John were…you know," Lestrade mumbled, embarrassed at the concept of Sherlock and John…been together like that. "Anyway, that's not important." He was suddenly very serious. "You know that girls body we found the other day, you thought it was suicide." Sherlock nodded. "There's been another one." His eyes lit up, he knew the case would lead to something interesting…or at least hoped it would.

"Has the girl's body been buried yet?" Lestrade nodded. "Where did you find the latest victim?"

"Across the river from where the girl was found. Molly has the body."

"You go; I'll follow in a taxi." Lestrade left, Sherlock running to get changed, texting John.

_Come to St. Bartholomew if convenient._

_SH x x_

The body was of a male, and like the girl, he had cuts on his arms, but his were more structured, pattern like. The male had also taken aspirin, bleeding to death, like the girl. Sherlock was fixated on the man's arms; the cuts were made in that way on purpose, a hidden message amongst the cuts, as if pointing to something. He quickly went through all the possible combinations of lines and the words that could be seen. His eyes caught a cut that curved from his hip, leading to his back, it was deeper than the rest.

"Help me turn him over." Lestrade and Molly rolled the body over, and like with the girl there were cuts on his back too. "Do we know his name?" Sherlock asked looking at the cuts. Through the hacks and slashes on the skin Sherlock could almost make out a word.

"His name is Alfred Stoke," Lestrade said, looking through the report. Sherlock thought for a second, trying to remember the hacked word that had been on the girl's body, what he thought he had seem amongst the scared mess.

"Where is the girl's file?" Sherlock asked; he needed a picture of the girl's back. Molly handed him the file and he laid the pictures out next to the man's body, looking at it with his tiny magnifying glass. It was obvious the word had been hacked into the girl's back by someone else, the killer perhaps, but for what purpose…

_Άλφρεδος_

Those were the words hacked onto the girl's back; when his brain fell upon that piece of information sudden realisation hit him. The words that were hacked into their skin were names. The name on the girl's back had spelt out _Álfredos,_ Greek for Alfred. The names on their backs related to other people, victims of this ritual like slashing of the body, the victim next in line...

"Lestrade, I need a bigger magnifying glass, find one," Sherlock instructed, looking at the man's back again, if he could make out what was written on this man's back then it would help prove his theory that the names related to victims, but also find out the name of the next victim.

"What have you found?"

"On the girl's back there was a name hacked out in Greek, at first I thought it was just cuts to help bleed her out, but looking at it again there is a name hidden among the chaos, spelling out Alfred in Greek, we can now assume that this is some sort of ritualistic killing, a Greek ritual perhaps."

"Or a psychopath toying with you for their own amusement," Lestrade sceptically pointed out. "You know Greek?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, showing Lestrade the translator app on his phone.

"We need to figure out the name that has been hacked into this man's body, also, I need their clothes, the killer is likely to have carried out these murders in the same area, there might be evidence of the location on their clothing, Molly, fetch them." Molly nodded, walking off. Lestrade managed to retrieve a larger magnifying glass with a stand from one of the labs, and positioned it over the man's back. The two men examined the hacks, Lestrade trying not to get in Sherlock's way as the man scribbled on his notepad.

Sherlock stopped, turning pale as he checked his notes, frantically looking over the man's body. Lestrade looked at the name circled on the notepad:

_Γιάννης_

"Sherlock, what is it?" Lestrade asked when Sherlock froze, the pen quivered in his hand.

"Giánni̱s is John in Greek."

"Right so the next person to be targeted is called John." As Lestrade said this he realised what was wrong. "It could just be a coincidence?"

"Molly I need those clothes!" Sherlock shouted, frantically walking around the morgue, dragging his hand through his hair. Molly ran in as if on cue with two bags of clothes. Sherlock dialled John's number, but it rang off and he quickly called Mycroft.

"Have you kidnapped John?"

"I had a chat with him yesterday, why would I need to talk to him today?" Sherlock took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"He's been kidnapped by someone else then, someone who plans on killing him. I know you have us both under surveillance, where is he?" Mycroft was silent at the other end of the phone. "Mycroft, I really need your help, please." This was Sherlock begging. "There is a murderer who has already killed two victims, John is next."

"How do you know?"

"His name was hacked on the last victims back, and the last victims name was hacked onto the first victims back." Sherlock closed his eyes. "Mycroft, John is the single most important thing in my life, without him I'm nothing, I need your help." Mycroft hung up. Sherlock grabbed the bag of clothes, heading to one of the labs so he could test them. He scrolled through his phone, looking for a picture of John in his gallery, picking out the best one.

_Find John and I'll pay double the usual._

_SH_

Sherlock sent out a mass text to his homeless network, hoping, praying that someone had some information that would help find him. Whilst he was waiting for replies from his eyes and ears he got to work scrapping off evidence from the clothes and testing them; Lestrade watching him anxiously, getting in touch with the police force, and effectively starting a manhunt and search party.

The clothing didn't give much away, only the waste you would typically find in an abandoned building, the moss type might indicate an area of London though. Sherlock searched for moss within the clothing, launching the test tube across the room when the tests came back with no useful information. He had to find something, and fast, John didn't have long, and he was relying on Sherlock to find him, unless the person responsible was in fact toying with him, then John might have longer. His phone beeped in his pocket.

_Shoreditch_

_J_

"Lestrade! Shoreditch, any abandoned buildings! Search them all!" Sherlock shouted, grabbing his coat. "Molly stay here." The two men left in a hurry, heading to Lestrade's car. "Stop at Baker Street, I need to grab something." He quickly sent out another mass text.

_Search Shoreditch_

_SH_

Now the homeless were on the hunt, of course money was their motivation, but Sherlock was willing to pay any amount to get John back to him.

John's gun was in his bedside table, Sherlock checked to see if it was loaded, shoving it down the back of his trousers, acting nonchalant when he got back into the car, Lestrade didn't seem to notice, speeding off down the road towards Shoreditch, blue lights flashing.

-x-

(Please let me know what you think) x


	6. Chapter 6

**The Deadly Ritual – part 2**

The blindfold around his eyes made it darker, he knew he was somewhere old; the air was musty and thick. John wriggled, trying to loosen the ropes that were tied tightly around his wrists, but to no avail, it just caused blistering.

"Now now John, we wouldn't want you to start bleeding before Sherlock gets here would we?" The voice made John jump, he had been alone for so long and he stopped wriggling. "Good boy." There was a pat on his head and he flinched in response. The sound of sirens made John hopeful, but it wasn't like Sherlock to get the help of the police, he thought they were all incompetent…did Sherlock even know John had been kidnapped?

John listened to the man's footsteps as he paced the room, he prayed to any deity that would listen to allow Sherlock to find him, begging that he would be returned to him. The man clicked his fingers and John heard more footsteps, at least three other people were with him.

"He's here, positions everyone, it's Showtime. You, take over for me, I have somewhere to be." John heart leapt out of his chest, Sherlock was here? John panicked; this is what the Moriarty wanted, he recognised his voice, and only now did he realise that he was the one holding John here. Moriarty walked away, someone else taking over. "Sebastian, come darling, daddy wants to go, I'm sure these boys can deal with Sherlock for now." John wrestled with the chair, trying to break free.

"Sherlock don't!" John shouted. "It's a trap!" he cried out as something hard and cold hit the side of his head, he could feel warm liquid beginning to drip down the side of his head and he gasped in pain, pressing the side of his head against his shoulder.

"Step away from _my_ blogger," Sherlock hissed, as he entered the room where the man was holding John.

"The boss said you'd come, you're too predictable Mr Holmes." Sherlock frowned; he wasn't exactly a creature of habit, at least not in a normal sense.

The blindfold had slipped and John was able to see Sherlock, as usual he was calm and his expression gave nothing away; john smirked, wincing slightly at the sharp pain in his forehead, watching Sherlock's eye twitch and he took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm, John could read him like a book, always the knight in shining armour…which made John the damsel in distress; this thought made John chuckle, the noise was out of place in a kidnapping that both Sherlock and the man looked at John with puzzled expressions. "What's so funny?" the man asked, his voice unsure, almost nervous…it was unusual for a captive to laugh, especially when a gun was involved.

"Where is our noble steed?" Sherlock snorted when he understood John's reference.

"He's waiting patiently." Sherlock smiled, referring to Lestrade. "What do you want?" Sherlock asked, placing his hands behind his back, subtly reaching for the gun that was still shoved down his trousers.

"You." Was the man's reply, as if it was hard to guess, John was Sherlock's only weakness, even an idiot could see that; which also proved that Lestrade was right, a murdering psychopath, wanting to catch Sherlock's attention…or working for someone who was psychotically obsessed with Sherlock.

"What do you want with _me_ then?" Sherlock hissed, the gun that was pressed up against John was making him very uncomfortable; John on the other hand wasn't showing may signs of distress…probably because Sherlock was there and in the past Sherlock had run to his aid and saved him, for him it was almost routine; get kidnapped, interrogated, beat up, at least in some cases, and then saved.

Sherlock scanned the room, waiting for the man to reply. There were three exits, including the one Sherlock had come through, they were In the main hallway as there was a landing and balcony, above them, perfect positioning for gunmen, the man wasn't stupid enough to be alone, there were at least four of them all together, although two of them had left, judging from the footprints that were leading away from the room and towards one of the three exits. Behind the man there was a can of petrol, there was a faint smell of it lurking in the room, Sherlock had noticed it when he had first walked in. "Are you alright?" he asked John, sighing, he always put John in danger without meaning to. John nodded.

"The rope is a little uncomfortable," he murmured, making Sherlock smile.

"Comfort doesn't exactly matter when you're about to die." The man barked, curling his fingers tighter around his gun.

"Could you at least untie his feet? Then we will talk. If these are to be our final moments I at least want John to be comfortable…" Sherlock was now relying on Lestrade to have located the man's accomplice, otherwise this could end up with one, or both of them killed. Of course Sherlock didn't intend for them to die, but he was suggesting that they would, to make the man think he had them where he wanted, make him relax, and make mistakes, ease him into a false sense of security as it were.

Sherlock looked at the man, from the way he was stood and looked he could tell that the man wasn't exactly intelligent, he was single and had been for a long time, he had no care for personal hygiene either, judging from the state of his hair and his clothes. The man was also inexperienced holding and using a gun, he was left-handed, yet he had a gun which was typically used by a right-handed person, his hand was also shaking slightly, showing he was nervous; he wasn't use to holding people hostage, there was a tattoo of a swallow on his hand, a gang symbol, Sherlock had past experiences with some members of the gang, this man was obviously a new member, trying to prove himself, or he had been hired, he needed them money; Sherlock knew exactly who had hired him.

As he had predicted the man holstered his weapon, bending down and began to untie the rope at John's feet…how stupid could people be…yet again, the man wasn't Sherlock so he had to be an idiot in comparison. John frowned at Sherlock who motioned back to headbutt the man. John complied thrusting his forehead against the back of the man's neck, causing the man to then headbutt the floor, John proceeded to launch himself and the chair against the man, just for good measure, breaking the chair as he did, releasing himself and he stood up, a triumphant smile slapped across his face, the adrenaline numbing the pain that he should have felt as the chair splintered against him.

Sherlock ran over to John, fumbling around trying to untie the doctor's hands, shoving the gun down the back of John's trousers. "Brought it just in case, I didn't realise we were up against an incompetent idiot." The man teased. John laughed.

"Moriarty was here, he's behind this." John huffed, shaking the loosened rope off his hands.

"I know, but he's not here, else we'd be dead by now." A gunshot echoed through the old building causing both men to freeze, John reached for his gun, bending down to pick up the man's gun, handing it to Sherlock before positioning himself in front of the detective, holding his breath, slowly pushing Sherlock towards where he had come in. Another shot was fired, much closer to them this time; at least two men were now positioned on the balcony. John pushed Sherlock behind one of the pillars opposite to where John had been hostage, before hiding behind one of the statues.

"Who else is here?" John whispered, not wanting the gunmen to hear. Sherlock had said that their 'noble steed' was waiting for them, so Lestrade was somewhere close by.

"Lestrade and a team of police, why?" Sherlock frowned.

"Are they in the building?"

"I don't know, why?" John rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to blow up this part of the building; I don't want anyone innocent getting hurt!" Sherlock suddenly realised what John meant. Sherlock grabbed his phone, covering himself in his coat, reducing the amount of light escaping, although not enough apparently as a gunshot was fired close to where Sherlock was, angered by this John risked a peak at the balcony, aiming at one of the gunmen, hitting them, although the shot hit his ankle it was still enough to put him out of action. John quickly ducked back behind his statue, not wanting to push his luck.

_Get everyone out of Shoreditch, John has a plan._

_SH_

It was silent, both men trying to breathe quietly. Sherlock's phone eventually flashing, another gunshot in his direction, scaring John and he retaliated once more, although it was too dark for him to see the gunman, he had positioned himself better than the other.

_Area is clear, don't do anything stupid._

Sherlock smiled, giving John the thumbs up. John motioned for Sherlock to run to the door. The doctor fired a shot towards the balcony, distracting whoever was there whilst Sherlock ran to the doorway, a flurry of bullets hitting the statue, a little too close for comfort, John sat tight looking over to Sherlock who was more than a little distressed, the doctor motioned to him to stay put, trying to convince the detective he was fine as the bullets ricocheted around him. The firing eventually ceased, and the sound of someone re-loading echoed through the empty hall. John gave Sherlock the thumbs up when he was ready to move and Sherlock did as John had and covered him, John launching himself behind the pillar that Sherlock had been hiding behind, the gunman firing again, fully loaded once more.

"When I say move, run, don't worry about me, I'll be right behind you." Even John could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Sherlock shook his head, taking a quick peek out onto the balcony and sent out two shots.

"You run, I shoot, and we leave together, I'm not losing you." John nodded, getting ready to run to Sherlock. Sherlock counted down with his fingers. John fired a shot towards the opposite side to where he was running, hoping it would distracted the gunman, as soon as he was passed the doorway Sherlock took a short aim and fired the gun at the can of petrol, grabbing John's hand, sprinting to the end of the corridor as the petrol exploded behind them. Sherlock braced himself as he broke through the glass window, stumbling onto the concrete floor outside; cushioning John's fall with his own body. Thank god they had been on the ground floor.

"I said don't do anything stupid." Lestrade was stood a few feet in front of them, his arms folded, rolling his eyes as Sherlock threw the gun he was holding back into the building, John rolling off Sherlock's chest before helping the man to his feet.

"Don't look at me, it was John's idea." Sherlock brushed himself off before he stuck his tongue out at John, who just stared wide-eyed at the very un-Sherlock like gesture. Sherlock turned to John. "Are you alright? You're not hurt are you? You weren't force fed aspirin were you?"

"Sherlock, I'm fine, honestly, don't worry." John sighed, stroking his wrists. "What does aspirin have to do with anything?" Sherlock laughed.

"I always worry about you." John blushed. Sherlock pulled the man into a hug, holding him tight, Lestrade shuffled uncomfortably, heading back towards to police car. "And forget I said anything about aspirin, that psychopath obviously didn't plan on killing you like the others." This confused John even more and he just continued to hug Sherlock, not really bothered about the details, he was back in the arms of his Sherlock, that's all that mattered to him.

"Do you two want a lift home?" Lestrade asked, not wanting to be rude. The two men broke their hug, strolling towards the police car hand in hand, smiling.

"I'm never ever never letting you go…ever," Sherlock whispered into John's ear as they bent down to get into the back of the car, tapping John on the butt as the man crawled over the seats.

"Shouldn't we call the fire service?" John asked, looking at the building that was now in flames. Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm sure they are on their way." John rolled his eyes, reaching over to stroke the back of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock frantically typed on his mobile.

_I left you a present at Shoreditch, hope you like it._

_SH_

"Moriarty had an accomplice, Sebastian I think he called him, they left as you arrived." John said; something had caught his eye when they had turned the corner.

"Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right-hand man, they both escaped," Sherlock said, almost frustrated, turning back to John. "But so did we." He smiled, leaning over to plant a kiss on John's forehead.

(I re-wrote quite a bit of this chapter, so you may need to re-read, sorry) x


	7. Chapter 7

(I suggest you go back and re-read chapter 6 (if you read it on the 10th), as I did some editing on it the day after I posted it, wasn't 100% happy with it, hopefully it's better now) x

Lestrade had dropped John and Sherlock off at Baker Street, been very secretive about where he was heading. Sherlock let John in first, following him up the stairs, bumping into Mrs Hudson on the way up, she gasped when she saw John.

"John! What happened to you? You look dreadful dear." Of course she meant it in the best possible way.

"Sorry to startle you Mrs Hudson, I had an accident is all," John said, smiling at her, Sherlock trying to push him up towards their flat.

"Let me know if you need anything dear." She called after them. The two of them walked into their warm flat, throwing their shoes into the corner, John collapsed on the sofa, exhausted. Sherlock quickly walked to the kitchen, putting water in the kettle and left it to boil, placing some teabags into the tea pot, turning to face John. The doctor was laid across the sofa, still in his jacket. Sherlock grabbed a cloth, wetting it with some water, sitting on the floor by the sofa, placing the damp cloth against John's wound on his forehead. The man winced, but let Sherlock clean the wound, with one hand he held the cloth to John's head and with the other pulled the zipper on John's coat down, pushing it off his body, John raising his hips to allow Sherlock to pull it from under him, and he threw it towards the door. John let out a weary sigh, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock whispered. "Because of me you're always in danger, I understand if you're fed up." John frowned up at the ceiling.

"What are you getting at Sherlock?" John was more than a little exasperated; he knew what the man was implying, the detective should know him better by now.

"If you want to leave, I understand why." John bolted upright, turning to Sherlock, his eyes burning.

"Really Sherlock?" John spat. "You know all there is to know about me, you can read me like a book but you honestly think I would leave you?" he was definitely angry. "Sherlock I'm never leaving you until you order me away, I-" he sighed, gripping the edge of the sofa, a tear rolling down his nose. "You are everything to me Sherlock, I lo -" he stopped again, taking a deep breath. "I- I love y-" Sherlock pressed his lips against Johns, holding the man's face in his hands, running his thumbs across his cheeks, catching the tears that had escaped. John slumped against the sofa, Sherlock pushing himself against the doctor. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, sliding his fingertips beneath the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock slid his hands down John's body, snaking his hand up John's fuzzy jumper, stroking below the man's bellybutton, John letting out a gasp, trying to wriggle away, but Sherlock pushed himself against John, thrusting is tongue against John's lips, asking permission. John's lips parted, letting out a moan as Sherlock's tongue slid in his mouth, his fingers gripping the hem of his purple shirt.

John pushed Sherlock away suddenly, shuffling to the end of the sofa, blushing. Sherlock looked at him, confused, tilting his head to the side. John panted, pulling his jumper down, stretching the fabric.

"S – Someone might come in." John was blushing, trying to hide the evidence of his arousal with his jumper, stuttering when he spoke. The detective smiled, standing up and walking over to the mantelpiece, grabbing the deerstalker hat off his skull, marching to the door and placed the hat on the outside of the handle, shutting the door.

"There, no one will walk in now." John stared at Sherlock, the man was a little flustered, and his purple shirt was pulled tight against his body, his hair ruffled, John bit his lip, looking away quickly, blushing even more. Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair; this situation was different for the both of them, he rattled his brain for an idea to make it more comfortable for them both.

Sherlock walked over to the sofa, sitting beside John, he placed himself at the other side of the sofa, lying down, closing his eyes, relaxing. He felt John move, crawling up to Sherlock, almost straddling him.

"Sherlock?"

"Mhm?"

"What are you doing?" John asked. Sherlock swallowed, feeling John over his groin as he sat back, straddling him, the doctor's hands on his chest as his fingertips gripped the silk fabric slightly, feeling Sherlock's toned chest.

"You'd be able to see more and feel more if my shirt was off," Sherlock offered, hinting, trying to be subtle, but suggestive of what he wanted, it was what John wanted, despite his attempt at hiding it. Sherlock waited patiently, sneaking a peek at John, who was bright red, his tongue darted out, wetting his lips; he was obviously going to need a little more encouragement.

The detective slid his hand along John's thigh, sliding it under John's jumper, stroking his side, doing the same with his other hand, pushing the jumper up John's body, wetting his own lips as more of John's body was exposed. He pulled John closer to him, their noses brushing, Sherlock craned his neck slightly and kissed the man who was now straddling his waist, pulling the jumper over John's head, breaking the kiss for barely a second, and discarding the jumper on the floor. He gripped John's muscular back as they kissed; the smaller man letting out a quiet moan as Sherlock slid his tongue into his mouth. John's fingers began to slowly unbutton Sherlock's shirt, shaking as he did. He pushed the silk fabric off his body, Sherlock shivered as their bodies touched, his trousers becoming increasingly tighter, especially as John was gently grinding against him, whether or not John was doing it intentionally was another thing, but it was driving Sherlock crazy, to the point he was almost losing his self control.

John's lips moved to Sherlock's neck, beginning to suck at the old love bite he had crated almost a week ago, nibbling at the delicate skin, Sherlock let out an involuntary moan, he'd never shared an intimate moment like this, it was foreign to him, almost scary, but it felt so right with John. John moved his hands from Sherlock's chest, sliding one of them between their bodies, stroking Sherlock through his trousers, causing Sherlock to gasp, but he didn't pull away, John, continued to trace his fingers around Sherlock's groin, the moans escaping from his throat encouraging John to continue. John's fingers worked at the button and zip of Sherlock's trousers, shuffling to the side so he could yank them off, the man lifting his hips to help John remove them.

John gazed down at Sherlock, who was now sprawled out on the empty sofa, the evidence of his arousal on full display for John to see, and he blushed, trying not to stare, Sherlock blushed too, embarrassed.

Sherlock sat up, reaching for the top of John's trousers, pulling at the waistband, planting a kiss on John's stomach. John was still, holding onto Sherlock's shoulders for support as the man began to undress him, at a painfully slow pace, Sherlock continued to kiss and suck at his stomach, leaving little red marks as he went. John moaned, digging his fingers into Sherlock's shoulders, half out of frustration and half out of pleasure. With a tug John's trousers slid down his legs, making pools around his ankles.

They were both silent, neither of them moving, Sherlock could feel John's fingers shaking on his shoulders, he slowly stood up, wrapping his arms around the smaller mans waist, their bodies pushed together, sending shivers down his spine. He lent down, kissing John, crushing his lips and body against John's. Sherlock slid his hands down the back of John's boxers, sliding them down, the man tensed, and Sherlock stopped, worried he had gone too far.

"May I?" he whispered, his voice heated with desire. John didn't say anything, but he dug his hands into Sherlock's underwear, pushing his boxers down, blushing when he looked up at Sherlock. Within seconds the two men were stripped, kissing in their living room naked. Sherlock fell back against the sofa, pulling John down on top on him.

"John?" the doctor looked at the man beneath him. "John, I love you." Now seemed as good a time as any to admit his feelings, although his feelings were pretty obvious. John lent down, kissing Sherlock.

"I love you too, so much." Both men froze, staring at each other; voices could be heard from the hallway, Mycroft's voice. "Do you think he'll come in?" John's heart was pounding. Sherlock smiled.

"If he does he's in for a surprise." They both laughed quietly. John reached for his jumper, pulling it over his body, throwing Sherlock a towel to wrap around his lower half; the detective fell against the sofa, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Quickly before he comes in!"

"Go away Mycroft! John and I are having an intimate moment!" Sherlock shouted, John squeaking as he said this, hissing at Sherlock. The detective quickly grabbed the towel, wrapping it around his body, watching as John stumbled into his trousers, bright red.

Mycroft laughed, half-heartedly as he opened the door, swinging the hat around his finger. John scurried into the kitchen, preparing some tea, to escape Mycroft deducing anything. John stared at his brother, even an idiot would be able to tell that Sherlock wasn't in the mood to see his.

"Is that why the hat was on the door handle?" Mycroft walked over to the mantelpiece, placing the hat back on the skull, turning to face Sherlock.

"Generally if a hat is on the handle of a door you do not enter it, I thought you might have remembered that from university." Mycroft raised his eyebrow, looking at Sherlock and then at John who was still running around the kitchen, doing anything to avoid been in the same room as Mycroft, it was too embarrassing. "You're wearing a new tie…or should I say new to you, Lestrade's tie if I'm correct," Sherlock said, standing, smiling to himself that he had been first to deduce something.

"Yes this tie belonged to Lestrade, he let me keep it."

"Was that before or after you slept with him?" there was a smash from the kitchen, the brothers turned just as John bent down to pick up the broken pieces of pottery.

"S-sorry…carry on," he said, blushing, Sherlock couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, looking back at Mycroft who was suddenly very uncomfortable. There were footsteps on the stairs and Lestrade walked in, smiling, stopping when the Holmes brothers turned and stared at him, Mycroft's expression softened, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

In that moment Sherlock realised that his brother had found someone who made him happy, he had never seen his brother smile genuinely like that, and now here he was smiling at the man he loved, the man who had melted his ice heart, just like John had melted his cold heart.

"Everything alright?" Lestrade asked, shuffling nervously.

"We were just discussing Mycroft's new tie." Sherlock watched Lestrade's expression, a small blush spread across the Inspector's cheeks, and he knew then that what he had deduced was definitely true. "Are you two doing anything special tonight? Wait – let me guess, Mycroft is going to take you to a private viewing at a cinema?"

"Very clever Sherlock, finished?" Mycroft was tense, clutching his umbrella.

"Almost." Sherlock smiled wickedly, turning to John, winking at him. "Are you staying for a drink, John is preparing some tea." Lestrade looked at Mycroft, who looked down at his watch.

"I suppose we have time for one cup."

"Indeed, sex can wait, twice in one day has to be exhausting." There was a snort from the kitchen; John was obviously enjoying Sherlock's little game.

"And what would you know of sex?" Mycroft was annoyed that Sherlock was having all the fun. Sherlock just pointed at the hat that was now on his skull.

"Hat on the door means do not enter, I'm having sex…" Mycroft looked up and down his brother, who was still stood wrapped in his towel, so Sherlock hadn't been joking about been with John in an _intimate_ way.

"I see…" Mycroft closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to him temple, probably trying to remove the image of Sherlock and John in that way. "Greg, would you like to stay for a quick coffee?" Mycroft asked his lover. "Or are you in a hurry to lose your virginity Sherlock?" he turned to his brother, smiling. Sherlock took a deep breath, he hated these kinds of battles between them, who could piss who of the most, and Mycroft was winning this round.

"John, turn the kettle off, Greg and Mycroft are leaving."

"Pity, I was looking forward to coffee and cake." Mycroft said dryly. The Holmes boys stared at each other, John and Lestrade exchanged glances, both blushing, smiling to one another, as if to say _congratulations, _but neither of them said it out loud. John turned the kettle off, joining Sherlock, the man pulled John to his side, squeezing his backside, making John blush. "Greg and I should probably go; we have lots of stuff to do and so little time."

"Yes, get as much action in before you have something important to do." Mycroft huffed, grabbing the deerstalker hat.

"I'll put this on the door handle shall I?"

"Please." Mycroft and Lestrade left quickly, just as the towel around Sherlock dropped to the floor. John let out a sigh, falling back onto the sofa.

"What do we have to do to get a little bit of privacy?" John sighed, Sherlock deducing that he was sexually frustrated, smiling at the smaller man.

"Let's go away for a couple days, just you and me, get away from all this." John looked up at Sherlock in disbelief, it wasn't like Sherlock to suggest a holiday, his work was far too important to him.

"Are you serious?" John wanted to make sure Sherlock wants pulling his leg.

"John, I want to go away, just us two, where we can be alone together, where we can enjoy each other's company, without been interrupted; besides, I need a break." John just stared at Sherlock, letting out a laugh.

"Ok, where do you want to go?"

"How about we go to York, Yorkshire is lovely this time of year, and it's been a long time since I went there." John agreed, smiling, suddenly giddy. "Leave tomorrow?" John leaned up and kissed Sherlock.

"Tomorrow is perfect." John pulled his jumper off, throwing it on the sofa. "Shower?" Sherlock agreed, both mean heading to the bathroom.

"Can I undress you?" Sherlock asked, wrapping his arms around John, undoing his trousers as he hugged him, John allowed Sherlock to remove his trousers and the man smiled when he realised John had gone commando, kissing the his neck. "The hat is on the door you know…we could always try again…" John turned in Sherlock's arms, pecking the man on the lips.

"Maybe." John was playing hard to get and he felt utterly stupid, sauntering into the bathroom, nodding for Sherlock to follow him. "Can you wait another day?" John asked as he turned the shower on.

"Another day for what?" Sherlock asked, confused, leaning against the door.

"You know…" John blushed, not wanting to say the words. Sherlock caught onto what John was on about when he saw the blush begin to stain his cheeks. Sherlock kissed the back of John neck.

"Of course I can wait." Sherlock began to suck at the back of John's neck, listening to the soft moans that were been created by the man in front of him. At this rate Sherlock was going to have John in the shower. "John…I don't think I'll be able to wait if you keep moaning like that." Sherlock muttered, sliding his hand up the inside of John thigh, nibbling at the lobe of his ear as he did. "John…can I?"

"Please." John moaned; Sherlock pulled John into the shower, pushing him against the cool tile wall of the shower.

This is what he wanted, more than anything; he wanted to consummate their relationship.

(Hope you like it) x


	8. Chapter 8

** WARNING – MATURE CONTENT **

John squinted in the bright sun, stretching in the confined space of the passenger seat, Sherlock had hired a smaller car than last time they left London, why they could have just caught the train to North Yorkshire John would never understand, but Sherlock wanted to drive and John wasn't going to argue with him, after all they were off on holiday, John worried that if he argued Sherlock would have ditched the whole idea.

His neck cracked and he turned to the man who was taking a swig of coffee out of his thermal cup, the thermal cup that John had brought of him ages ago, this was the first time he had see Sherlock using it.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, smiling at the doctor who was still yawning. John nodded wearily, rubbing his eyes. "I was thinking we could stop at the next service station, we need to fill the tank anyway." John gasped suddenly, turning sharply to Sherlock.

"Did you tell Mrs Hudson we were going away?" Sherlock sighed.

"Yes John and I also told her she could take the milk we have left in the fridge."

"We didn't have any milk left…"

"She'll be disappointed then." Sherlock laughed, turning the radio up when he realised what song was playing, watching John blush. The man hummed along to the tune of '_kiss me_' taping his lap lightly in time to the beat. Sherlock reached over and squeezed John's hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

"Both hands on the wheel," John muttered, smiling, teasing Sherlock, but the detective obeyed, and placed his hand back on the steering wheel.

After another half an hour of driving Sherlock flicked the indicators on, turning into the service station that had a petrol station and a picnic area, it was a warm and sunny day, so it was an ideal place to stop.

Both men stretched when they stumbled out of the car, as usual John had some lunch prepared, an assortment of sandwiches and little nibbled to keep them going, they were idea for eating on the go, but Sherlock enjoyed this part of England so much they would have been stupid not to get out and admire the scenery that surrounded them; vast green fields and forests, the air was fresher than London and they both breathed it in. John emptied the food onto the small table whilst Sherlock went to pay for the petrol and no doubt grab some extra food at the same time. John watched Sherlock as he looked at his satellite navigation app, the destination had changed from York, to Malham and John frowned, but didn't complain, Sherlock jotted down a few directs onto a scrap of paper, he knew roughly where he was going. They were both quiet, John nibbled at his sandwich, closing his eyes at the sun beamed down on him, relaxing.

"I was thinking…" Sherlock started, placing his phone back in his pocket, reaching for John's hand. The man's eyes opened, turning to Sherlock, who was blushing.

"Thinking…" John encouraged his heart suddenly leaping out of his chest, smiling at the detective.

"I was thinking about our relationship…what um…would you class me as your…" he hesitated, squeezing John's hand. "Would you class me as your boyfriend?" Sherlock blushed, shuffling uncomfortably, looking down at John, nervous.

"Are you asking me to be your…boyfriend?" John was blushing too, but he had a goofy smile plastered across his face. Sherlock nodded, looking down at their hands. John lent forwards, rubbing his nose against Sherlock's, quickly pecking him on the lips, turning back to his sandwich, bright red. Sherlock frowned, placing his finger under John's cheek, making him look back at him, taking the triangle piece of sandwich from the man, placing it back into the container; He lent in, kissing John again, only for longer this time, holding the back of his head to stop the doctor from pulling away and they sat kissing in the sunlight. The man eventually let John push away, both gasping, Sherlock gave John a sheepish smile before turning to his own sandwich, peeking at John who placed his coat over his lap, taking a bite of his sandwich. Sherlock wondered how he had ever lived without this man, John was everything to him now, and he couldn't imagine life without him.

Soon the two of them were back on the M1 heading north; John was now driving, letting Sherlock have a rest, although John had no idea where he was going, Sherlock had told him to follow signs for Bradford.

Despite getting lost a couple of times they eventually found their way to Malham; Sherlock switching places with John so he could drive them to where ever he was taking them.

Sherlock pulled up outside a small cottage with a thatched roof. John stared at the cottage wide-eyed; it was beautiful, like something out of a fairytale with its blossoming garden, small pond and birdbath, surrounded by a picket fence, the word _Harebell _written delicately on the small gate.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked as he climbed out of the car, standing next to John. The man croaked, trying to find the words to describe the cottage. "I thought so too." Sherlock smiled, winking at John before beginning to unpack the car, carrying their cases to the house, John following with the boxes of supplies they had brought with them. Sherlock unlocked the door, stepping aside to let John in first, flicking the lights on. They stood in the doorway, looking into the small living room with its stone walls and floor, huge wooden timbers hung above them, Sherlock pushed John into the quaint house, placing the bags by the log burner, heading through the lounge and into the kitchen. John scurried after Sherlock who had gone out the back door and was collecting logs from the small woodshed.

The two of them stood in the kitchen; Sherlock had cleaned out the log burner, ready for the evening. "Should we get something to eat?" Sherlock asked as his stomach rumbled.

"What do you fancy? I didn't bring anything suitable for dinner."

"I could show you around the village, we could get some supplies from the shop and cook here, together." Sherlock was beaming from ear to ear, the distance from London and work was really bringing out a side to Sherlock which John had rarely seen, he was almost normal…he wasn't hyper or agitated due to the lack of cases, he was just Sherlock. John leaned up on his tiptoes, kissing Sherlock, wrapping his hands around the taller man's neck.

"Sounds perfect." John whispered, pulling back slightly, his arms still secure around the man's neck, gazing into the detective's eyes. "Should we go?" he asked, Sherlock's stomach rumbling again. They carried their cases upstairs, there was a small landing which overlooked the living room, and a doorway led into a double room with an ensuite bathroom. John quickly changed, taking his shirt off, replacing it with a thin jumper, which was a loose fit and would be more comfortable than a shirt in this climate, would allow some much needed ventilation. Sherlock been Sherlock slipped into _the_ purple shirt, knowing full well that John would get flustered. When Sherlock turned to see what John was wearing his jaw dropped slightly.

"What?" John asked, looking down at himself, Sherlock continued to stare, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"Am I not allowed to stare at my _boyfriend_?" John blushed.

"N – No you're allowed to stare." John swallowed, Sherlock smiled at the doctor, motioning for them to head downstairs, leaving their coats on the banister.

The two men strolled around the village in the evening sun, taking in the view marvelling at the peace and quiet, even the birds singing was a welcoming sound, it had been a long time since either of them had heard chirping.

The local shop didn't have much; John wandered around looking at the groceries whilst Sherlock had a peek at what wines they had, picking out three white wines and a red wine, meanwhile John had picked up enough ingredient to make a beef stew, he was hoping the cupboards back at Harebell would have some simple supplies like salt, pepper and some stock cubes.

It had begun to get darker and without the sun it had also become cooler. Back at the cottage John emptied the groceries into the fridge, placing the ingredient needed for dinner on the side, as Sherlock lit the log burner, shoving a couple of logs into it before heading to the kitchen to help John.

Sherlock starting to peel the carrots and potatoes as John placed a pan over the hob, putting the heat on low, adding some butter so it would melt before joining Sherlock and began to peel and dice the onions. Sherlock smirked when John's eyes began to water and he wiped them with the back of his sleeve, trying to continue to chop, it reminded Sherlock of when he made the risotto for them. The detective began to blow close to John's eyes, blowing away some of the vapour that was reacting. "Sherlock what are you doing?"

"Trying to stop the propanethiol S-oxide from the onions reacting with your tears." John rolled his eyes.

"You're making my eyes water by blowing them." Sherlock went and searched for some glasses, walking behind John, placing the glasses over John's eyes before gliding his hands over John's, controlling the knife. "I can cut onions in my own Sherlock." John protested, rolling his eyes again.

"You can't cut them wearing those glasses, and besides is this not what couples do? Help each other." Sherlock kissed John's ear, watching as the blush began to spread. The two of them continued to cut the vegetables in this awkward embrace until the onions were done, Sherlock scooping the small pieces into his hand placing them in the sizzling butter. "Should _we _cut the carrots?" John blushed, nodding, still wearing the glasses. "You look cute in glasses." Sherlock winked, tapping John on the nose.

As they cut the carrots John could feel Sherlock pushing into the back of him, and he couldn't help thinking about the night before, both of them in the shower…and how Sherlock had taken him against the wall of the shower, blushing when he thought about how they had slept naked together; he tried to shake the salacious images that were running through his head, trying to concentrate on the carrots, but Sherlock was so close to him, John could feel every inch of the man, dinner wasn't important anymore, he didn't care about dinner. He tried to control his breathing and heart rate before Sherlock noticed, but Sherlock noticed everything, there was no point in trying to hide the nature of his thoughts, and John began to lean into Sherlock.

John was so lost in thought he hadn't noticed the gas been turned off or the fact their hands had stopped cutting. John was jumped out of his thoughts suddenly to the feel of Sherlock's hand sliding up his jumper, brushing over his nipples, before grabbing his neck, tilting it to the side so he could kiss up towards his ear, nipping the skin on the way. John let out a moan, gripping the counter as Sherlock slid one of his hands down John's trousers, brushing over his erection. Sherlock nibbled John's earlobe as he squeezed him through the fabric of his boxers, his own erection digging into John's side. "What were you thinking about John?" the man teased knowing full well where John's thoughts had taken him, the detective slowly withdrew his hand from John's trousers, giving him a final squeeze through his trousers, John let out a whimper, probably out of frustration that Sherlock had stopped.

The detective smirked, chopping the carrots as John tried to compose himself, how had Sherlock not been effected, he was acting like it was just a simple kiss. John frowned, turning the stove back on and stirred the onions, adding the beef and waited for it to brown, preparing the stock, mumbling to himself, looking at Sherlock who seemed to be completely fine, the excitement in his trousers had ceased, frustrating John further, why was John so easily effected? Maybe John loved Sherlock more than Sherlock loved him; this thought began to infest John's brain as he mindlessly stirred the Beef and onions around in the pan. Sherlock added the rest of the vegetables, kissing John's forehead. "Sorry darling." He whispered, moving the jug of stock closer to John, sauntering off in the direction of the living room, John quickly added the stock, keeping the stew on a low head, adding some salt and pepper, putting a timer on, following Sherlock, giddy that Sherlock had called him _darling_.

Sherlock was sat on the floor in front of the fire, a glass of white wine in his hand, the only light coming from the flames that licked at the logs, mood lighting. John sat down next to his _boyfriend _pouring himself a glass of wine, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I'm so glad we did this." John smiled, taking a sip of wine. As he raised the glass to his lips Sherlock reached for the glass, placing it on the small coffee table, doing the same with his glass before pouncing on John, pushing him to the floor, pinning in down with his hips. John's eyes widened as Sherlock help John's hands above his head with one hand, John could have easily broken free, but he didn't. Sherlock smiled slyly, running his other hand up John's jumper, pushing it up as he did, peppering kisses over the smaller man's abdomen, working his way up John's muscular body. The man let out a quiet whimper as Sherlock kissed his chest, brushing over his nipples; Sherlock really knew how to push John's pleasure buttons, despite only losing his virginity the day before, but knowing Sherlock he had probably researched this type of thing, or have information stored away in that amazing mind palace of his. John lost his self-control, forcing his hands free, wrapping himself around Sherlock, and rolling over so that the slender man was beneath him, he let out a gasp when John's groin slid against his own, biting his lip.

John grabbed the collar of Sherlock's purple shirt with both his hands; he was straddling Sherlock so there was no way the man could escape. John wanted to rip the shirt off the man's body, but he loved the shirt so much he didn't want to ruin it, he hesitated.

"Do it." Sherlock gasped, knowing what John wanted to do. The doctor smiled, obeying. He gripped the collar tighter, pulling, the buttons ricocheting off John and the floor, Sherlock moaned as his chest was exposed, John's palms feeling ever expanse of skin Sherlock had to offer. John sat up quickly, his fingers working on Sherlock's button and zip of his trousers, brushing his fingers over the man's erection, teasing him like Sherlock had teased him earlier, he loved listening to Sherlock moan. Sherlock's fingers gripped at John's waist, he had his eyes closed, raising his hips up, shoving himself into John's palm, John smiled, peeking at the clock on the mantelpiece; without warning he stood up, pulling his jumper back over his body, leaving a very aroused and very confused Sherlock panting on the floor, his trousers around his knees.

John turned the stove off, stirring the stew, having a taste. Sherlock walked in, his trousers had gone and he stood in the archway in his boxers and open shirt, John tried not to stare, he was trying to make a point. Sherlock wasn't one to give up so easily; he walked behind John, running his hands under the man's jumper, throwing it on the floor, kissing up and down the man's spine; John struggling to ignore him, letting out an involuntary moan.

"What about dinner?" John whispered, his breathe catching in his throat. Sherlock grabbed John's hips, spinning him around; he was crouched on the floor in front of the doctor, the same level as his groin.

"I'm not hungry…for food John." Those words made John whimper, he knew where this was going, the anticipation killing him. He held his breath as Sherlock began to undo his trousers, slowly, tugging them down along with his boxers, John couldn't look, he was too embarrassed to watch, but able to let it happen; what he hadn't expected was for Sherlock to lean forward and press a kiss to his erection, John's knees almost buckled, and he tried to suppress a moan, unsuccessfully. Sherlock continued to plant kisses around John's naked groin, teasing the doctor, listening to the soft moans that escaped every time his lips made contact. John raked his fingers through the detectives hair, shivering when the cool night air got to him; Sherlock noticed, standing, dragging John towards the log burner, he pulled John down on top of him as he fell onto the sofa; John reached down and pulled Sherlock's boxers down to his knees, letting gravity pull them to the floor. They kissed desperately, sucking and biting at each other's lips, their erections rubbing as they pushed their bodies closer, Sherlock moaning, allowing John to slide his tongue into his mouth. Sherlock's fingers dug into John's hips, lifting the man up, positioning himself under the man, allowing John to control when he moved. Sherlock groaned in pleasure as he felt John begin to slide down his length, his fingers digging harder into John's hips, crying out as he was pushed deeper into John.

Dinner was all but forgotten.

John's fingers knotted in Sherlock's hair, pressing his forehead against his, panting as he began to rock back and forth, the sting quickly becoming pleasure, this was definitely better than in the shower.

Sherlock's hands moved to John's back as he began to lift John up and slide him back down, taking control, pushing deep into John, the doctor crying out in pleasure, throwing his head back, Sherlock leaned forwards, sucking at John's neck, lowering them to the warm floor, his hands sliding to John's thighs, lifting them up, before slamming deep into him, moaning as John tensed around him, pulling out slowly before repeating, at first he was slow and gently, but soon he began to relentlessly slam deep into the man beneath him, John arched his back in response, crying out each time Sherlock pushed deeper into him, he wasn't going to last much longer is Sherlock carried on at this pace. Sherlock had obviously noticed this and gripped John's hips, pulling the man down onto him each time he pushed into him, both moaning, their breathing rugged.

"John I - " he gasped, trying to get the words out before he peaked. "John I love you." Those words were enough to send John over the edge and he cried out, setting Sherlock off, the man collapsing onto _his _doctor, panting.

"I love you too." John sighed, his voice a whisper as he tried to get his breath back. "So much." Sherlock smiled, resting his head on John's, closing his eyes, listening to the man's erratic heartbeat.

Please tell me what you think, it's my first time writing…this kind of stuff…not sure if it's convincing, but hope you enjoy :3 x


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